Le Cirque de Monstres
by the-angel-of-words
Summary: Young Erik and his days in the freak show. WIP


The sun was already starting to set when the Master came for him. The routine was always the same, but it never failed to strike fear into the small boy's heart. He looked up from behind his crude mask at the gypsy and waited. The older man struck the bars of the cage with his club and sneered. The gold rings in his stringy black hair jangled as he moved, his matching black mustache flailing as he barked an order.

"Felébredni ördög!"

The foreign words didn't fail to make an impression. The boy scrambled to his feet and nodded.

"I'm awake."

The Master tapped the bars again and motioned at him, the oversized fabric sleeves wagging beneath his arms. He had already changed into his usual outfit for the circus: a rich red overcoat accented with black and gold flourishes covering a puffy white shirt and tight black trousers. His black boots came up to his knees, the tops of which folded back on themselves to cast a dull sheen off the leather. Every night, it seemed as though he wore even more gold rings in his hair and on his fingers. Tonight he even wore no less than six necklaces with various pendants and designs.

As the small boy held his wrists together and through the bars, the Master quickly snapped manacles around them and tugged at the chain that held them together. With a nod of approval, he keyed open the padlock and pulled the door open.

"Siet!" He gave the boy a violent shove as he walked from the cage, causing him to lurch forward and barely catch himself before falling to his knees. "Stupid dog," he added through broken French.

The boy raised his eyes and dared to give him a dark look. "My name is Erik," he said under his breath.

The Master laughed and kicked him back to the ground. "No names for dogs."

Erik curled into a ball as the pain twisted through his kidneys. Gripping his lower back, he finally found his feet again, but kept his head lowered. On shaking legs, he half-stumbled across the camp and towards an even larger cage laid with straw. This one actually allowed him to stand tall, but the purpose of it made him hate it even more than the cage that served as his bed. A large banner was strung up behind this large enclosure, proudly proclaiming the inhabitant to be The Living Gargoyle. The picture depicted the classic rendition of the sort of creatures atop the cathedral at Notre Dame. Erik sneered at it and walked through the cage's already open door. As his Master locked it behind him, he turned to offer his manacled wrists through the bars, but the older man only laughed again.

"Keep chains today, ördög. More money." With another laugh, he walked away and didn't look back.

Erik moved to the back of the cage and curled up in the one corner that wasn't illuminated. Thankfully the Master hadn't taken his mask away. It was truly a burlap sack with two holes cut into it for his eyes, but it served the same purpose. He reveled in the safety of it, for he knew once the crowd arrived, it would be taken away. The other performers were taking their places, rushing to and fro, none of them giving him a second glance. There were some other "oddities" in the camp, but only Erik was reduced to chains. He watched in silence as the bearded lady, the living torch, and the Siamese twins all walked by. One man, clad only in a loincloth, passed by while in the midst of hammering a nail into his nose. The dull noise of voices started to rise from beyond the gates; the crowd was gathering.

Erik pulled his mask lower for security and huddled even closer into the corner. The booming voice of his Master rang out, instructing everyone to go to their places. The gates swung open with a fierce creak and over one hundred Parisians flooded the circus. Men, women, and children of all ages raced from exhibit to exhibit, marveling at the bizarre acts and spectacles. The rich smell of popcorn and spun sugar filled the air, mixed with the sour smell of sweat and cigar smoke. It all made Erik's stomach twist.

Before the crowd neared his cage, two large gypsies appeared to draw a curtain around the cage. It was the same procedure every night, to intensify the moment in which the crowd saw him for the first time. Erik sighed and leaned against the bars. His Master's voice boomed from next to his cage, making him jump in shock; he hadn't even heard him approach.

"Come see! Come see! Only two francs!"

People gathered around the cage, their voices hushed with wonder and excitement. Erik could see their shadows moving through the curtain as they deposited their money into the Master's hand. Moments later, the two larger men pulled the cloth aside and flanked the cage as the crowd moved closer.

"The Living Gargoyle!" The Master waved his arms and smiled, half of his teeth gleaming with their gold in the torchlight.

Erik didn't move from the shadows. The only indication he was there came from the slight jangle of the chain between his wrists. The crowd already grew restless.

"I can't see anything!"

"Where is he?"

"I want my money back!"

The Master turned and swatted the bars with his club, making Erik jump. He braced his nerves, climbed to his feet, and slowly moved into the light. The filth on his naked skin made every angle and point of his bones more defined. The simple cloth around his waist offered him minimal coverage. As he turned to face the crowd, the torchlight spilled across his skin to cast a dull gleam over the shiny surface of countless scars on his chest and back.

"He doesn't have wings!"

Erik recoiled and stared at the small boy who shouted that. He was about the same age as he, no more than twelve. If you had my face...you would be in here, not me.

The Master laughed and said, "He has gargoyle face. Wait and see."

"I want to see now," the boy said.

"You want see face? Two francs."

The crowd started to stir with angst, many of the men yelling they had already paid.

"What did we pay for already then? Just to see a beaten boy in a cage?"

"No, barátom. You pay for this." The Master motioned to one of the gypsy guards, who nodded and quickly reached through the bars to unlock Erik's manacles.

He rubbed his wrists and retreated to the back of the cage, where he found his violin and bow already waiting for him. The sight of it brought him some comfort. Taking a brief moment to tune it, he returned to the cage front and lifted the violin to his shoulder. With a deep breath, he laid the bow across the strings and began to play.


End file.
